


Parallel Coincidences

by lambicpentametre



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Childhood, Flashbacks, Gen, Light Angst, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambicpentametre/pseuds/lambicpentametre
Summary: "Todd had no way of knowing the impact his words had on Dirk. Completely unobservant, he missed Dirk tensing up at the suggestion, and even seemingly did not hear the vehemence with which Dirk rejected the idea."Dirk loves it when Todd gives him suggestions when they're out on a case, but he doesn't really love this one.





	Parallel Coincidences

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized dialogue from Season 1, Episode 5 “Very Erectus.”

_Todd sighed. “Here,” he said, grabbing a crayon. “Let’s do an experiment. Tell me what I drew on the napkin.”_

_“No.”_

_“Why not?” Todd asked._

_“Look, I can’t explain it, okay?” Dirk said. “I learned a long time ago that things don’t always make sense the way people want them to. I accept that, and you’re going to have to, too.”_

Todd had no way of knowing the impact his words had on Dirk. Completely unobservant, he missed Dirk tensing up at the suggestion, and even seemingly did not hear the vehemence with which Dirk rejected the idea. After all, how was Todd supposed to know that Dirk had heard those words twice a week for ten years, that those particular phrases still haunted his dreams occasionally? Dirk still hadn’t told Todd anything about his time with the CIA. He couldn’t know.

 

* * *

 

A young boy with bright auburn hair sat in a hard, uncomfortable metal chair at a sleek metal table that was just as uncomfortable as the chair in a room that could only be described as “sterile and bright.” Across from him sat a stern woman with a tight bun and a bearded man with black, rectangular glasses that were remarkably thick. A file folder full of papers sat between them, and two clipboards sat on top of the files. All three wore monochrome clothing; the boy was fiddling with the long sleeves of his gray shirt, nervously tapping his gray shoes together. The sound was muffled by the legs of his sweatpants, which appeared to be a size and a half too large for the tiny boy. The man and the woman both wore black button down shirts. He wore slacks while she wore a pencil skirt; the broguing on her heels matched that of his loafers. Both were clad in white labcoats, stark against their black ensemble, with badges pinned to their chest identifying them as doctors.

“Let’s do an experiment,” the woman said. “We have some cards here for you, and we’d like you to tell us what pictures are on the cards.”

The boy had yet to look up to see the faces of the adults. The frown he wore was more suited to someone twenty-five years older than him.

“Did you hear me?” the woman asked. The boy cocked his head a bit, never looking up.

“Do I have to?” he said.

“You know we have to play the game,” the man replied.

The boy huffed in response. “It’s not a very fun game,” he muttered, finally looking up from the table. The woman smiled a bit. The man straightened up in his seat.

“Are you ready to begin?” the man asked. The boy nodded once. The woman took the first card from the pile and slid it over for the boy to look at. She put the card face-down on the table, the blank white back contrasting with the cold metal of the table. “What is the picture on the card?” the woman prompted.

The boy furrowed his brow in concentration. “It’s a… house?” he said after half a minute of silence.

“Good,” the woman replied, sliding the second card to sit in front of the boy. “Now try to do this next one faster.” Again, the boy took half a minute before answering. The next few cards passed in a similar manner. The woman would slide a card across the table to the boy, the boy would stare at it for half a minute exactly, and the man would record the boy’s answer. The man and the woman glanced at each other after the boy finished fifteen cards, having a silent conversation. A stack of unused cards sat to the right of the woman.

“Is everything alright?” the man asked the boy. “You don’t seem to be getting faster at answering.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I told you it was no fun,” he answered. The man and the woman looked at each other again, exchanging no words. They both rose from their chairs in sync, collecting their belongings. They left the card they had just placed in front of the boy on the table, face down, then left the boy alone in the room. When the door shut behind them, the boy sighed and slouched in his chair. He was tired of the games they made him play; he was the only one who ever had to play them. The adults never did anything but poke and prod at him.

The door opened again, but the boy did not look up to see the man who entered. He was a middle-aged man with a dark mustache. He had a round face that might have suggest friendliness, had it not been for his military dress. He sat in one of the chairs across from the boy and folded his hands on top of the table. The boy still did not look up, as if he was avoiding the person across from him. They remained like this for a while, the new man staring at the boy, the boy staring at the table, and neither saying a word. Eventually the man gave in.

“Hello, Project Icarus,” he said. The boy refused to respond. “Icarus, the doctors told me that you didn’t want to play the game.”

“That’s not my name,” the boy replied sullenly, staring intently at the man. “My name’s not Icarus, and I wish you would stop calling me that."

The man sat back in his chair. “Alright then, Svlad,” he said. “Why don’t you want to play the game anymore? Today is Tuesday, and we always play the game on Tuesdays and Fridays, just like how we always go for a run on Thursdays and how we always go visit the other doctors in the laboratory on Mondays.”

The boy crossed his arms. “I told them the game wasn’t fun, I told them. It’s not a game if I’m the only one who’s playing it.”

“It’s like Solitaire,” the man explained. “That’s a game with cards that you play by yourself.”

“But why would I play with the picture cards by myself when there are other people to play with them too? Go Fish is much more fun than Solitaire, or Memory!” the boy retorted.

“I understand that, IcaㅡSvlad, but you must understand that the doctors and I are very busy people. We only have time in our days for the games we, you, play already,” the man answered.

The boy looked up defiantly at the man. “I don’t believe you,” he said, uncrossing his arms to fist his hands in the excess fabric of his sweatpants. “Today they stayed even longer than they did on Friday, and we didn’t even finish the game.”

The man paused for a minute, processing the boy’s answer, then suddenly became stern. “Svlad,” he began, his voice eerily calm, “did you withhold your answers from the doctors just because you didn’t want to play the game?” The boy’s shoulders were tense. The look in his eyes was almost rebellious.

“Dammit!” the man exclaimed, slamming his palm down on the table. The boy flinched. The man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Svlad. But we’ve talked about this. You cannot do that; those are not the rules of the game,” the man said.

The boy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to play the game anymore. I don’t want to talk about your stupid picture of a cowboy!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. The man’s eyebrows went up for a moment before he regained his composure.

“Okay, Icarus,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll try a different game on Friday.” He stood from his chair and nodded once at the boy before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

“That’s not my name,” the boy said again before the door slammed shut. The two doctors were waiting in the hallway for the military man.

“It’s nice to see you, Colonel Riggins,” the woman greeted. “We’re so sorry about the difficulties with the subjectㅡ”

“It’s nothing compared to the difficulties presented in the other Blackwing subjects. Icarus is a walk in the park compared to the others. How did he do today?” Riggins asked the doctors. “Despite the delays in answers, that is.”

“Well, sir,” the man said, “he performed with ninety-six percent accuracy. Previously, he had a recorded high of about eighty-three percent.”

“Were his answers more accurate because he was given more time?”

“No, sir,” the woman answered. “Project Icarus has had a notoriously wide range of accuracy over his tests. We’re still trying to work out extraneous variablesㅡ”

“ㅡBut we’re also trying to determine if his results are due to the nature of his abilities, sir,” the man finished.”

“Halifax,” Riggins said.

“Yes, sir?” the woman answered. “I want you to work with the psych team. Develop a new test to replace the normal Tuesday experiment. Same concept, different methodology. I suspect that Project Icarus will continue to skew our data sets if he is presented with the same test again,” Riggins ordered.

“Sir, yes sir,” Halifax responded with a sly smile.

Turning to the man, Riggins said, “I want you to work with the others who have been researching Project Icarus. I want a concrete analysis of his accuracy. Tell Research A that their new experiment is on deck for tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, following Halifax down the hall.

“And I want that analysis by the end of the week, Friedkin!” Riggins called after him. Friedkin turned and gave him a mock salute before continuing his jog.

“Oh, Svlad,” Riggins muttered to himself. “What have I gotten us into now?”

 

* * *

 

_“Why don’t you want to do this?” Todd asked._

_“Look, I don’t have time for or interest in talking about your stupid picture of a cowboy.”_

The universe worked in funny ways sometimes. Sometimes it led you to your best friend ever. Sometimes it left you deep in the bowels of the CIA for a decade. Sometimes it made random events seem like parallel coincidences. But it never let you go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Shoutout to Alex, who suggested I watch Dirk Gently while I was high on pain meds after I had my wisdom teeth removed. Hit me up at ladywaffles on Tumblr if you want to chat!


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